Give me points.

While fate will always weigh upon the decisions I preside over, I make no pretense of my loathing for the vehicle through which I am exercising my mission. I am so much more than a mercenary for hire, giving percentages of my wages to some distant, wealthy cad. Hoar knows, and Hoar sees. My work will be honest. My sword deadly, but not only for the unfortunates we encounter in each job. Oh, you rich ones. The longer I spend toiling in your tricky machinations, the more hungry I become for your flesh.

Please note that while I am momentarily unable to participate in company action and decisioning due to this sickness, it is only making me stronger and more resistant to unwanted attacks, both biological and physical.

Perhaps if you spend less time bathing in dragon shit, you wouldn't smell so bad.